Navy Winters and Violet Connections
by Liberty Love and Roses
Summary: "You look cold." Dawn eyed the boy warily as she rubbed her hands together, hoping the warmth generated from the friction would ease the snow's bite. He talked. After a few minutes passed by, she turned to him again. "You aren't going to offer me your jacket?" Paul scoffed before replying, in that alluringly harsh voice of his, "Hell no." Ikarishipping!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! Here's the promised Ikari oneshot! Actually, it's now a THREE-SHOT. I changed my mind, teehee! But if you don't like it, I'll simply delete it and won't continue :(.**

 **I haven't uploaded anything in a while, but that's because of all the assignments and assessments I've been getting... My fault for taking all three sciences, I suppose.**

 **I will try and upload Oath soon! Quick thing about Oath though- I've got a slightly new idea regarding this, so I will be changing quite a few chapters.**

 **Warning: IT SUCKS. Some things simply make no sense and it might be a little long. And I own nothing. This is not meant to be plot-heavy, it's kinda fluffy, and yeaaahhhh. T for language. Some very OOC characters. Yuuup.**

 **This will be my first time writing a whole story in 3rd Person! I'm normally a person who likes to write in first person, but it's good to be able to write in all point of views, I think. So, I'm sorry if I mess up...**

 **Please Review, guys!**

* * *

 _ **Edit: 10th October 2017** \- Just some minor changes._

 ** _Edit_ _: 10th December 2017-_** _Just some HUGE, MASSIVE CHANGES, HAHAHA._

* * *

 _Together, wouldn't we be like snow? You're cold, like snow, and I'm beautiful, like... well, snow._

* * *

One thought that constantly replayed in Dawn's mind was how oddly bitter the snow tasted that day. And in the midst of her perplexity, she just couldn't abandon the thought that it was _his_ bitter persona that infected the innocent snow.

Oh, the poor, innocent snow.

Under ordinary circumstances, Dawn Berlitz would refrain from passing judgement on others, but Paul Shinji was her exception. In his possession was social etiquette so awful that Dawn couldn't help but nurture conflicted feelings towards the male. Any conversations, let alone decent ones, with him were scarce, but Dawn had to admit that on the off-chance they ever engaged in one, time simply _flew_ ; in a mere two seconds, or perhaps three seconds, the conversation declined to a slience, with the slouching enigma, hands resigned to pockets, disappearing beyond the horizon.

Rude, cold and eternally brooding, Dawn's neutral view was stained ever so slightly with disdain.

But in Paul's defence, Dawn wasn't the epitome of perfection either; with impulse her instinct and rashness her plan B, she was so spontaneous that nothing around her mattered, and she was too proud for everything to never go her way. She was all the trouble he would prefer to avoid, and hence every spur of the moment conversation she'd initiate, he'd keep ephemeral.

It was a relationship quantified by mutual indifference tinted by distaste.

But on starlit nights, where in silence they'd listen to the ebbing chatter between their respective guardians (her mother, his brother), Dawn often contemplated the status of their relationship the moment his eyes, moulded from sharp onyx edges and granite and flint imperfections, met hers.

From the very first glance back in nursery, Dawn was intrigued. From when she discovered he was her new neighbour at four years old to when her mother started frequenting their house more often after Paul's parents passed away, Dawn had always been intrigued. Visit after visit, the feeling evolved to addiction.

Something sparked between them when their eyes met, like his sharp edges struck against her heartstrings and set her body aflame, because she could never look away from that painfully alluring onyx hue.

Some part of her, the fairytale-loving child, whispered to her, " _A connection_."

And most of her, too proud to believe in childish things, didn't believe it.

(Except, with each encounter, she twisted and turned the words around in her head, considered the possibility for a little longer each time, and now almost all of her entertained the thought—

that maybe, they did have a connection.)

* * *

When it was just him, her, and the harsh snow, Dawn had wondered exactly what sin she had committed for her to suffer from such ill fate.

There were two major problems with being there at that exact moment. First problem: it was snowing (as previously mentioned), and it was heavy. This was a problem because Dawn had forgotten her beloved pink trench in the midst of all her desperation as she sprinted out her house, chanting rather ominously while she pleaded to Arceus that she'd make it on time for the bus (which, much to her dismay, she had missed). But, back to the problem; it was snowing heavily, Dawn had forgotten her trench and because she had forgotten her trench, she was freezing half to death as the oh so cold snow drove down in a slanted blur.

Second problem: Paul. Literally nobody else in that otherwise isolated bus stop. Nope, just Paul. Normally, she would try and initiate a fruitless conversation, but on such a bad day, where his social conduct was that of a recluse or perhaps worse, Paul's face was probably the last face she had wanted to see.

Dawn heaved out a breath, observing the wisps of translucent white disappear into the air. Her lip quivered at the touch of winter's breath, the natural pink of her chapped lips tinged with a purple hue. Her tongue darted around the corners of her mouth, adding moisture to the peeling skin. Dawn winced as her saliva evaporated in between the cracks of her lip, inducing a sting.

Stupid, stupid winter.

"You look cold."

Dawn eyed the boy warily as she rubbed her hands together, hoping the warmth generated from the friction would ease the snow's bite. He talked.

 _He talked_. Dawn's eyes widened.

This was a new occurrence. Paul never, as far as she could remember, started a conversation with her, or _anybody_ for that matter. Perhaps guilt chewed away at his conscience as he watched a poor, innocent girl tremble in the cold?

After a few minutes passed by, she turned to him again. "You aren't going to offer me your jacket?"

Paul scoffed, before replying in that alluringly harsh voice of his, "Hell no."

She blinked slowly, and turned to face the front again, watching as her disappointment dissipated in translucent clouds.

"Why am I not surprised?" she muttered. "Kind acts have always been above your ego."

"Whatever, Troublesome."

" _Do not_ call me that." She glared into his eyes, and cursed as his onyx eyes lulled her fury into silence. This was ridiculous. How could the glower of a being the antithesis of herself subdue her with such little effort?

( _A connection._ )

A screech; the sound of tyres skidding on the road as they came to a halt.

"You know what?" she said in triumph, a grateful smile gracing her lips as she found herself in the presence of the school bus. "I don't need your jacket anyways."

But alas, her words fell upon deaf ears.

Paul entered first, receiving his ticket and flipping his phone out as he settled on a seat by the front. Dawn did the same, plopping down on a free seat beside him. He eyed her, but didn't ask why. She eyed him, but didn't justify why.

Her fists balled up on her knees (still too cold) and his fingers tapping at his phone, the engine sighed black clouds into the winter air as the bus began to move.

It was all silence and stillness, as if they were polaroid pictures or still life paintings, until Dawn, tired of the nothing his presence offered, pinched the phone away from Paul's hands.

"I've changed my mind," she muttered softly, a hint of persistence evident in her tone. "I want your jacket; I'm still cold."

"Give me my phone, Troublesome," Paul growled, his hand extended as he awaited the return of his mobile.

"Dawn," she corrected, refraining a hiss. "It's Dawn." She agitated a coil of perfectly curled, navy hair, waving the phone lightly in her other hand. "And I'll return it once you lend me your jacket. In the meantime..." Dawn abruptly stopped talking, tapping away at Paul's phone.

"What are you—?"

"Adding my number."

His face crumpled, and he quickly snatched his phone away from her hands. "Why?"

"Why not?" Dawn countered.

Paul groaned in exasperation, his fingers pressing against his forehead. "I made a mistake talking to you."

"You made a mistake when you didn't lend me your jacket," Dawn retorted, snatching the phone right out of his grip once more.

Even though he never did give her his jacket in the end (one lost battle), she did manage to add her number to his phone, and he never deleted it (at least, not at that moment).

She was content with that alone.

* * *

Perhaps bitter snow was not quite as bad as Dawn initially thought it to be.

* * *

 **This part was very short. Hope you enjoyed it! Leave a review and tell me if you like it so far! If you do, I'll continue it and finish it as quickly as I can! If you notice any inconsistencies and such, please tell me and I'll try to resolve them! After editing everything, I didn't have the time to reread it all, so there might be some glaring mistakes I missed.**

 **Anywho! Adieu!**

 **X's and O's,**

 **Liberty!**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm back! Tada! New update! Hooray! In this chapter, I will elaborate more on Dawn's connection to Paul, like, how she's always thought of it and how it came to be, if you know what I mean. ALSO, tons of mini time skips (like, I dunno, a month? Two weeks? I dunno), since I can't be bothered describing each and every single one of their interactions (cuz that's a LOT to write).**

 **Replies to Reviews:**

 **jessicuhxoo:** _I'm glad you liked it! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Although I feel that it'd eventually become a very clichéd story if it isn't already. Either way, I appreciate you feeling that it's different; it made my day! :)_

 **Guest:** _Thank you very much! I hope you enjoy this chappie. :)_

 **Julie Togepi:** _I'll do my best to update quicker next time! Thank you for reviewing!_

* * *

 _ **Edit: 11 Oct 2017-** Minor changes again._

 **Edit: 27th December 2017-** _Some major changes! I'm practically changing the direction of this story entirely, haha._

* * *

 _You are a mystery to me, yet so familiar. Like a song I've never heard before, and a tune I've known my whole life._

 _~ Pavana_

* * *

It- the sparks- started in nursery.

Juvenile as she was and far too accustomed to the tame nature of her beloved Glameow, she underestimated the temper of the pachirisu she'd attempted to entangle in a reckless and too tight embrace.

And that pachirisu, oh that cursed pachirisu, exercised no tolerance even with the young and the ignorant and the innocent, and—

—well, the sparks flew.

"Diamond Dandruff!" was what she recalled Kenny shouting out, and the nickname spread like a wildfire amongst all of the kids.

 _Almost_ all of the kids.

Silence hung off her new neighbour's lips (Paul, was he?)- a boy too uninterested in entertaining such childish ploys- and he stared at her. Onyx, speckled with granite and flint, sharp edges striking against her heartstrings, and Dawn must have been hallucinating because sparks were flying not out of her hair, but between them, where their eyes met for a spontaneous moment.

She knew they were still laughing, of course they were, but she felt the tension in her fists ease as they unclenched and over her amplified heartbeat, the laughter was too blurry a sound that she couldn't hear it.

But Dawn was at that embryonic stage where pride intermingled with fear, and she was _not_ going to be swept away by a boy she barely knew in a fairytale that didn't exist, because a beginning like that was and could only be the catalyst to a sad ending (she witnessed such a story unfold in person, and so of course she would know).

She peeled her gaze away, convincing herself that the only sparks flying were from her frazzled hair and nowhere else.

* * *

"Coffee or tea?" Dawn asked, offering the violet-haired boy a small smile as he responded with his signature growl.

"Troublesome, you are literally everywhere I go." Paul's gaze flickered away from the menu in his hands, and he regarded her with a glower.

"Serendipity," she replied drily, tapping her heel impatiently against the checkered tiles. "Now: coffee or tea?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were stalking me."

"I would never!" she spluttered, folding her arms as her cheeks tinted pink. "Just for that, I'm going to bring you the most bitter tea they have here."

"And here I thought you were kind; it's amazing how easy it is to reveal your true colours," Paul mused, cheek leaning into his palm as he ran his finger along the corner of the laminate menu with his other hand.

"I am kind!" Dawn retorted, resting her bag on the table and fishing out her purse. "Now, if you excuse me..."

"Three sugars," Paul called nonchalantly as Dawn went to approach the counter. "I won't drink it otherwise."

Dawn halted, turned on her heel and retraced her footsteps with a gait the antithesis of her normal feather-light precision. "Can't you at least sound grateful?" she chided, pulling the laminate down until it curved enough to barely graze the table's surface. "I _am_ treating you, you know, and you always acting like this makes me feel less inclined to give you what you want."

Paul's gaze, oozing his utmost lack of bother and entertainmemt, drifted lopsidedly to hers. "I repeat: three sugars, or else I won't drink it."

Dawn laughed incredulously, lifting her finger off the menu, mildly disappointed it didn't spring back hard enough to inflict Paul's face. "It's amazing how someone so bitter enjoys something so sweet," she mumbled. "Opposites really do attract."

"It took you sixteen years to finally come to that conclusion? Such a basic concept is known to five year olds, Troublesome."

"You know what?" Dawn said hotly. "You can pay for your damn drink too."

So she said, but before Paul could retort (or grunt or spit back with whatever dignified sound he could conjure), she approached the counter, change cold against her skin as she fidgeted with the coins whilst waiting for the line to shrink.

Ever so often, her gaze would flicker back to Paul to assure herself that he didn't utilise this opportunity to escape, and it was at this time the lady by the counter finally got around to her.

"What would you like?" Young and sugar-glazed voice, the lady at the counter batted her sapphire eyes at Dawn as the blunette's gaze wandered. She cleared her throat. "Miss?"

Startled, Dawn whipped her head to the front. "Tea!" Dawn squeaked, blushing bright pink as she let slip a sigh of shame and added meekly, "Please."

"Unsweetened?"

Dawn pondered this, before replying, "As bitter as you can make it."

The lady, scrunching up her nose, chortled in amusement. "Which poor soul are you trying to torture with this concoction?" she exclaimed dramatically, propping her elbows on the counter. "That boy you keep staring at?"

"I wasn't staring," Dawn countered hastily, and the lady (perhaps too interested for her own good, Dawn noted) responded with a look of consolation and a mocking nod, as if to say, _Yeah, right, sweetie._ Dawn brushed this off, clearing her throat and handing the total change over. "Besides, he has an affair with the bitter end of life; the tea'll be right up his alley."

"Is that right?" There was a distinct clink of coins pouring into the till and the shuffling of the coins extracted before the latter wound up in the blunette's hand. The lady eyed her with an enlarging grin tugging at her baby pink lips. "If you wait five minutes, your revenge will be served!" she laughed, subtly throwing a glance at Paul and then back to Dawn before indicating for her to wait by the side.

"May, don't start conversations with random customers." The lady's expression contorted as she turned to face a boy of similar age (early twenties was Dawn's guess), complete with green hair and matching emerald eyes (and she thought purple hair was peculiar).

"Drew, go prepare the tea and stop sticking your nose into someone else's business," May hissed, puffing out her cheeks as she brought her attention back to Dawn.

Drew rolled his eyes. "Oh, the irony," he mumbled, and Dawn lulled a laugh down her throat as May gaped for a moment, allowing the truth of his words to absorb, before hastily shooing him away, cheeks tinted with a pallid red hue.

"May, then, is your name, right?" Dawn asked, smiling when she got a nod of confirmation. "Dawn," she introduced, extending her hand for May to shake.

"The tea," Drew grumbled, placing the freshly brewed cup of tea on the counter.

Dawn gave him a nod of gratitude, accepting the ceramic cup into her hands. "I'll see you guys around!" Dawn said, before rushing towards her table, anxious that Paul might have escaped in her moment of distraction.

But he didn't. In all his violet-haired, onyx-eyed brilliance, he remained glued to his seat, glaring at his phone screen, and Dawn sighed in relief.

She was glad he never left.

* * *

"Haven't you heard that revenge was meant to be _sweet_?" Paul grumbled, sipping disdainfully at his tea before the skin between his brows crinkled as his glare intensified.

Dawn laughed. "Be grateful," she replied. "Revenge is also a dish best served cold; at least I had the courtesy to buy you warm tea."

"How _generous_ of you."

He peered at her from the corner of his eye on occasion whilst drinking, and he'd notice the saccharine smile creeping onto her lips, the soft sheen of her cobalt eyes and the small blush on her pale cheeks (she blamed that on the winter cold, despite the heating being in full throttle inside the café), and he'd stop noticing the bitter taste.

In the end, he finished the tea in its entirety, oblivious to its bitterness, and when she waited eagerly for some kind of negative reaction to satisfy her thirst for petty revenge, he sighed and improvised a curse or two in addition to a well-practiced scowl, watching as her smile lit up as she produced a victory sign in triumph before departing.

"That idiot," he muttered, eyes trailing after her from the other side of the window as she skipped through the snow, and this time, it was not in dread or scorn or disdain that he spoke.

(Nostalgia, because this was how they used to be once upon a time.)

* * *

He was undeniably pissed when he saw her at his door, a box of pizza in one hand and a branded bag in the other. What pissed Paul off even more was when his navy haired stalker invited herself in, despite his desperate attempts at denying her entry (be it slamming the door directly in her face or blatantly saying 'no' to her face- both of which were unsuccessful).

In their thirteen years of being neighbours, Dawn only visited if her mother compelled her to, and the thought of visiting was one they both rarely considered and quickly dismissed, so why would she want to come over now? The thought hurt Paul's head.

"It's Christmas Eve, my mother's busy and your brother's out on a date, so what's the big deal?" Dawn questioned, eyeing Paul with wide, innocent, cobalt eyes. Paul, however, wasn't fazed; he never had an affinity for cute things.

"I'd rather spend my time _alone_ ," he replied in exasperation. Dawn eyed him with pity as she chewed on a slice of pizza.

"That's just sad," she said, her eyes flicking over to the TV. She fumbled for the remote, pressing a few buttons in trial and error, hoping she would land on one that would turn the TV on. After the fifth button, her attempts proved successful, and she turned to face Paul. "Wanna watch with me?"

His face blanched as he watched a string of cheese drape Dawn's chin as she mangled her slice of pizza. He turned away in disgust. "Not really," he muttered, shoving a gulp down his throat.

"You know you want to!"

"Shut up, Troublesome," he snapped, a grimace hanging off his features. "Don't talk with your mouth full."

"I'll stop," Dawn replied, smug smirks and mouth still full, much to Paul's disdain, "if you come watch with me."

"Tempting, but no," Paul growled.

"You're surprisingly stubborn," Dawn replied, and she persisted with chewing and talking simultaneously.

Paul snorted. "You're one to talk."

"Especially with my mouth full," Dawn teased, patting the seat beside her, "which, by the way, I will stop doing once you come watch with me."

He contemplated it this time, and with a groan, he settled onto the opposite end of the couch. "Troublesome," he breathed, lilt stained with more agitation than normal, "you are the bane of my life."

"Oh, please," Dawn replied. "You know you love me."

"With your messy eating, you're lucky if anybody loves you at all."

"Rude!" she exclaims. "I'll have you know that I have received many love confessions, and there are many more to come."

"They haven't realised that your beauty is only skin deep."

"So you acknowledge that I'm pretty?"

"Troublesome," he hissed, "if you're not planning on watching TV silently, I'll either leave myself or kick you out."

"Rude," Dawn muttered, before adding, "And I am more than just a pretty face, I'll have you know."

" _Troublesome_."

"Alright!" She threw her hands up in defeat and pouted. "I'll shut up."

The noise of the television waned as the silence consumed, and Dawn and Paul, on opposite ends of the couch, listened to the pervading nothing, falling into the cyclic routine of simplicity and regular heartbeats as their chests rose and fell in tandem.

 _Breathe in. Breathe out._

(Nostalgia; it felt like so long ago, fragments of history repeating itself.)

* * *

He was seven years old when his parents passed.

Car crash, Reggie told him, hollow smile and red eyes. Paul was seven but not naive; his brother didn't need to act so strong for him.

Dawn's mother started frequenting ever since, as did Dawn.

Dawn and Paul sat on opposite ends of the couch, listening to the ebbing chatter (desperate cries of a fifteen year old boy unaccustomed to having to carry the responsibility of a young life when he was so young himself, and the comforting words of a woman offering her support), breathing in and breathing out in the overwhelming silence.

His cheek was bruised, seeds sewn from misunderstandings and ire and frustration, blooming purple and blue and yellow.

Reggie's words lingered in the atmosphere: _cold_ , _inhuman_ , _soulless_ , and _how can you feel nothing when our fucking parents just died?_

Dawn peered over, flinching at the sight of the bruise and averted her gaze.

Of course, Paul didn't feel nothing. Loss was like worlds collapsing, fairytales unravelling, juveniles watching the weft strings of their euphemistic reality untangle. _Of course he didn't feel nothing._

" _How_ ," Dawn whispered, fingers twirling the hem of her pink dress, "can you be so strong?"

Dawn could see it; the slight freezing and shifting, the quiet clearing of his throat, the glint of surprise in his onyx eyes.

They observed a silence, his eyes fiercely glaring into hers, and there were those sparks from nursery again, except this time, there were no electric types to initiate them.

He hummed out a low grunt. "Because Reggie isn't. One of us has to be."

(Later, Reggie would call him a _hypocrite_ once he found out _,_ screaming at the top of his lungs, and finally, an _idiot_ , pulling him into a hug and crying into his small shoulders and whispering, "Thank you," like there was no tomorrow. Paul knew his brother, and this was all Paul could do to help a helpless boy.)

"Are you scared? That if you aren't strong, you might lose him?" She averted her eyes (he wasn't blind; he could still see her cobalt orbs, glassy and red-rimmed).

He didn't reply. She knew his answer regardless.

"You're like me. When Dad left us, I was scared that I might lose my mother too," she murmured, small hands clenching into smaller fists. She paused and turned back to him. "You can cry, you know?" she assured, attempting to comfort him, but she herself began weeping, vigorously wiping away the tears with her fists.

He said nothing. He didn't cry either. Underneath the starlit night, listening to the ebbing chatter of their respective guardians and the waning sobs of a broken girl, he hopped off the couch, strode to her, and their eyes met.

Breaking greys against broken blues.

They were both fairytales unravelling and fairytales beginning, connections and changes waiting to unfold.

But the difference was that Paul was determined to fix himself, while Dawn was too proud to accept that happy endings were possible if she was willing to try.

* * *

He noticed that she was extremely close, their arms barely grazing, and her fingers brushing lightly against his. Initially, he was debating on whether he should confront her about it, but he decided against.

He reached out for the bowl of popcorn, offering it to the sobbing damsel beside him, refusing to look directly at her and the palace of tissues she had built.

"Thank you." She sniffled, snatching the bowl and discarding another tissue. He silently noted that he would need to buy more disinfectants.

"No more tragedies from here on out," he said, snatching the remote away as the credits rolled.

Dawn nodded meekly in response. "Okay." She paused, turning to him with puffy and glassy eyes. "You can cry too, you know? I won't judge."

"No thanks," he spat back, offering her a new tissue box.

In spite of his undeniable ire, he didn't shift from his position, and neither did she, both maintaining an unfamiliar proximity, with her sobbing and him listening. Perhaps it was the nostalgia that lulled him into comfort, that hushed any undignified response he would fire at her for being too close. It must have been; he couldn't think of any other reason (but these justifications didn't really feel right, anyway).

"Doesn't this feel nostalgic?" Dawn laughed, dabbing her eyes with a dampened tissue.

Paul didn't deem it necessary to reply, but Dawn knew his answer anyway.

* * *

 **I have a feeling this is gonna be way longer than the three chapters I planned it to be. I'm extending it- FIVE CHAPTERS IT IS! You probably noticed I got super lazy near the end, and I'm sorry about that. Right now, I'm lying in bed with major sneezles and sniffles, and I can't think straight. And I apologise for not updating in forever. Since I have exams very soon, I need to devote my time to studying for now.**

 **And yeah, fairytales! Cuz they're like seven years old and fairytales are my craze right now.**

 **Please review, and tell me what you think!**

 _Adieu!_

 _X's and O's,_

 _Liberty_


	3. Chapter 3

**Hola, guys! I'm back! I recently just got extremely obsessed (again) with a fan-made Pokémon game called Pokémon Reborn! I'd definitely recommend it if you're looking for a Pokémon game that's a bit harder (it's actually pretty hard on the easiest mode though...) and a bit more... I dunno, for older audiences?**

 **Now, on with the story... Let's go!**

 **Replies to Reviews:**

 **Julie Togepi:** _Thanks for reviewing again! I've just decided to stick with the new one. I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

 **HollyNintales:** _Thank you! I'm glad you enjoy my descriptions. :)_

 **Naomipy:** _Thank you very much! I hope you like this chapter!_

 **Aiko801** _: Whoa, you really think my writing's amazing? I'm honoured. As for Paul, he's actually a lot more tsundere than I initially intended, but I think it works for this story, so meh. I'm glad you like TsunPaul. Thank you for reading and dropping a review! I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)_

* * *

 _ **Edit: 28th November 2017** \- Minor changes AGAIN. You will see this happening a lot for the next few chapters probably._

* * *

She watched her breath cloud the glass of her window, doodled on a love heart with her name inscribed under Paul's and sighed as the window became clear again (the love heart disappeared, and Dawn hoped it wasn't foreshadowing their relationship).

Dawn reacted violently to the abrupt buzz of her phone, and fumbled with it as she tried to unlock it whilst contemplating whether or not to forgo the password entirely (she was a ball of excitement, and excitement had no home for patience, even if her password didn't require a lot of it).

 **To: Dawn**

 **From: Paul**

 **Subject: Do you want to go somewhere?**

 **[Blank]**

Dawn re-read the message for good measure, clicked her tongue at the fact that he hadn't the courtesy to elaborate on the subject, redirected her focus to the subject and squealed.

She didn't particularly care that she was dressed in nothing but a baggy, white tee and a pair of shorts patterned with piplups that she slept in the night before, and slipped on the first pair of shoes she could find (strappy, black stilettos, but Dawn didn't care; she could easily play it off by saying she was trying to make a fashion statement).

Dawn ran next door and rang the doorbell (with prior knowledge that Paul would be the only one inside as Reggie was working).

Paul appeared unamused when he opened the door, muttering Dawn's given nickname spitefully as he demanded to know exactly why she was in front of his door.

"Because," Dawn started, pouting, "I got your text."

"And so you decided to walk over here instead of replying normally?" Paul growled, folding his arms over his chest and stifling a yawn (it was only eight in the morning, and he hadn't the energy to deal with her in person).

"I've always thought it was better to make plans in person." She shrugged. "Besides, you're only next door! Now, budge over and let me in."

Dawn lightly nudged him aside, and he groaned.

Upon sitting down, Dawn licked her lips before asking why he asked her to go with him somewhere.

"No particular reason," he replied, as vague as Dawn expected him to be, but she didn't mind.

After all, he had invited her out for the first time- how could anything else matter?

* * *

It's no good, Dawn thought, because she was falling and falling (and for maybe not the first time, she realised she was falling in more than one sense).

Her feet had become numb in her fuchsia heels, and as she tried to liberate her gorgeous heels from the the snow's firm clasp, she found herself stumbling forward.

She closed her eyes and scrunched up her face, preparing for the impact.

She managed to keep one eye open and she watched as the world around her kept twisting and turning, and decided she didn't appreciate the world lopsided.

And she saw Paul's arm, extended to catch her, and she thought that it was no good because she was falling to the cold, snow-clad ground (and she was falling for him). She grimaced. What started simply as her heel stuck in the snow was manifesting into a right pain and a potentially injured ankle.

He caught her, and she sighed a breath of relief; her ankle was saved (she wished she could say the same for her feelings).

"Could you try not to injure yourself today?" Paul groaned, helping the blunette stand, scowl prominent on his face like always, and heavy, wintery, white breaths easing themselves into the crisp air.

"Oh?" Dawn mused, raising her eyebrows and Paul instantly began to dread whatever she was about to say next. "Were you really looking forward to the Piplup Parade that much?"

"Of course not," Paul scoffed. "Shut up and get moving! We're already late anyways."

"Oh, I apologise, Paul dearest," she teased, expanding grins and teeth exposed, white like the snow they tread on. "I can't afford for you to miss your beloved Piplup Parade!"

"Troublesome," he warned, eyebrows knotting together even further.

But Dawn ignored his warning (after all, what was Paul if not just empty threats adorned with an immortal frown?) and linked her arm with his, dragging him along to where his darling piplups awaited him.

* * *

Paul wasn't sure how to react when she entwined her fingers with his upon leaving the parade.

He tried growling at her and warning her to back off, but it instigated her further into refusal, and he hated how stubborn and inconsiderate she could be (but maybe he didn't hate it as much as he claimed).

But the point was, she made him erratic, and he didn't understand why (to date, he hadn't understood anything in relations to her, and it threw him into a fit of frustration).

"Hey," Dawn said abruptly, matching her cobalt eyes to his onyx globes, and Paul felt that click resonate in his bones (he almost felt that he could understand her, but who couldn't- Dawn was essentially an open book). "Don't you think that together, we'd be like snow?"

Paul raised his eyebrows before bringing them back together into a small frown, and he eyed her with scrutiny as he asked her to expand on her question.

"You know," Dawn said vaguely, gesturing wildly with her hands to indicate the point she was making. "You're cold like snow, and I'm beautiful and soft and fluffy like, well... snow. Ah, but you're beautiful as well, but in the cool kind of way and, uh, now I'm just rambling, so I'll just shut up." She looked down on the ground, watching the imprints her feet made into the snow and her cheeks flushed red.

Paul looked at her briefly before looking up. "Maybe," was all he said, and Dawn whipped her head up, surprised.

"Really?" Dawn's disbelief was evident in her voice.

Paul decided it'd be smarter to not respond (yet).

Ten minutes passed in silence before they finally reached their homes, and Paul waited until Dawn reached her doorstep before finally responding: "Really."

Dawn's eyes widened and he could see her lips part to form a response, but he quickly entered his own house and slammed the door before she could let slip a word.

"What is wrong with me?" Paul muttered, ascending the stairs to his room and drowning away his thoughts in the song that blared in the background as he picked up one of his brother's cheesy, romantic, superhero comics.

* * *

The school bell rang (imagine the sound in typical, high school romcoms with the most annoying song ever on the internet and that alarm clock you destroyed last week because it was so damn irritating) and Dawn gathered her multitude of folders by her chest. She sauntered through the school halls (they were relatively empty- for now, and Dawn knew better than to let her guard down because they could come hurtling at her any minute) to where her locker was, and she twiddled with the passcode until the door finally sprung open.

Dawn managed to squeeze her stuff in with the rest of her junk (her locker was in desperate need of a clean out, but Dawn was a master of procrastination as she was of fashion, so she was able to ease herself out of the trouble).

"Hey."

Dawn turned to meet the owner of the voice (lanky figure, no taller than her and blonde hair in the most unnatural shape): Barry.

He was famous in their school for being a huge fan of the infamous violet-haired boy (Paul was, after all, one of the best battlers to ever grace their school), and Dawn had known the blonde since they were both around ten.

She offered him a smile, shooting him silent questions demanding his intentions.

"I was just wondering," he said, catching on quickly to her message, "what the relationship between you and Paul was? You've been seeing him a lot recently."

"Is that coming from curiosity, or the number one fanboy of Paul Shinji?" Dawn teased, slamming her locker shut and readjusting her bag on her shoulder.

"Neither."

"May I know who's asking, then?"

He smiled. "The boy who has had a crush on Dawn Berlitz for the past four years."

* * *

Since then, Dawn hadn't really spoken to Barry much. She expected this to happen. It always did. Too many times with her, once with her mother.

She hadn't thought of him much either, and Dawn realised what a terrible person she was.

For every moment she hadn't thought of him, she had been thinking about Paul.

* * *

"Troublesome, do me a favour and stop mourning on my couch?" Paul hissed, sipping on his hot chocolate after feeding his Pokémon in his backyard. "If you're going to be depressed, do it at your own place."

"You're right," Dawn said, and Paul was almost surprised that she wasn't putting up a fight. Except: "You have too much of it already from your presence alone, right? I'd hate to add to your infinitely depressing vibes."

Paul perked an unamused brow. "Your satire isn't welcome."

"Oh? I suspected you'd be immune to it by now, seeing how often you use it yourself."

"Like, I said: unwelcome."

"It's not like I can help it," Dawn argued. "You're a terrible influence."

"Listen," Paul warned, "I can't stand fucking damsels, so if you're only going to cause me trouble in this weird, depressed state of yours, get lost and comfort yourself in your own home. I don't want to deal with it."

He swung open the entrance door and grabbed her possessions (shoes, handbag), preparing to throw them out the house before Dawn emitted a deafening shriek.

"Wait! Don't throw them!" she screeched, snatching her belongings and wrapping a possessive arm around them. "I'll stop acting like this, I swear, but would it kill you to be a little more comforting? I feel horrible, you know."

"And what's it to do with me?" he deadpanned, closing the door and sitting down on the couch where Dawn re-settled, maintaining an arm's worth of distance.

"Nothing at all," she responded, mellow as her eyes drifted astray. It wasn't like her at all, so Paul finally gave in to his curiosity.

"What happened?" He made the question sound as if he was being forced to ask it and his tone was still harsh and edged with a growly quality.

Dawn looked a little surprised and debated whether or not to respond with a sarcastic comment. She decided against, and replied, "I recently got confessed to."

Paul felt his body go rigid a little, but he continued to train an indifferent countenance. "Did you reject him?" He damned his curiosity, but was careful enough to add a grunt to prevent her from being too suspicious.

The blunette connected her cobalt gaze with his steely onyxes, and—

 _Click_.

"Would you be jealous if I didn't?" Slow movements, glameow elegance. Her hands shifted.

He became more conscious of the distance as she inched closer but refused to react. Instead: "Should I be?" It sounded like a challenge.

She was now only a fingertip away. A smile. "I'd like it if you were."

Silence.

And suddenly, the proximity was gone and all Paul could hear was the static of his television and the slamming of the entrance door.

* * *

 **Man, this was short! Sorry that I haven't updated in a while, by the way. This chapter might have been a little disappointing to you, I don't know, but I think I'm fairly satisfied! My only problem is that Paul is a little OOC and super tsundere, but I hope you guys aren't too bothered by that! :)**

 **I didn't proofread it, so if you spot a mistake, please tell me and I shall fix it!**

 **Anyways, please, please, PLEASE review, and I will continue to work on this soon!**

 _~Adieu!_

 _X's and O's,_

 _Liberty!_

 _xxx_


	4. Chapter 4

**New chapter! I wrote this all in an hour, and I'm too tired to proofread, so if you notice any glaring mistakes, I'm sorry. I also really just wanna update it to get it over and done with. Soz, my dear readers.**

 **Replies to Reviews:**

 **Julie Togepi:** Fixed! I think! And I'm not sure if I'll even bring Barry back... I'm too lazy. Though I'll probably conjure up something.

 **Gwen (guest):** I'm glad you like this! I enjoyed writing their flirting too, and even if this chapter changes the direction of this story, there is no denying that the flirting will go on. Somehow. I'll figure out a way!

* * *

 **Edit: 24th December, 2017—** _I essentially changed this entire chapter. And the entire story. Okay, maybe not the entire story, but I changed A LOT. I'm not sure if y'all will like it, but I recommend a re-read, otherwise nothing will make sense. Sorry if you guys don't like this change._

* * *

There was a letter in her hand. Dawn didn't open it, she didn't want to open it, but she knew who it was from and she wouldn't dare forgive him.

"Do you still love him?" The letter crumpled a little in her grasp.

Johanna froze, Glameow shifted and Dawn pressed her lips into a fine line. The TV murmured in the background.

"I do," was her mother's response. Dawn settled into the seat beside her.

"You're a Top Coordinator. So many people love you." The clinking of metal against ceramic resonated between them. "But he didn't. So why do you—"

"He did love me once, Dawn," Johanna interrupted coolly, gently. "But circumstances change. He fell out of love, and I stayed in love."

"Do you miss him?"

"I miss what we used to be."

She bit her lip, the letter wrinkled a little more. "If you were to see him again, what would you do?"

"Nothing. He has built himself a new life, and I am nobody to interfere with that anymore." It was suddenly blue against blue; a tender sea impugning cobalt.

Dawn blinked and felt her jaw stiffen, and she averted her gaze. "How are you so calm about this?"

"Because I don't regret whatever has happened." The TV zapped off, the remote sounded softly as Johanna placed it on the table. "I understand that you were traumatised by this, Dawn, but you can't use my past situation, however unfortunate, as an excuse to obstruct what makes you happy and fuel your fears."

Dawn perhaps rose too abruplty; Glameow, surprised, jolted out the room. Her visage remained composed, indifferent. "What am I scared of?"

Johanna was tentative, somewhere between non-pushy but still prying more than what Dawn was comfortable with. "Is what I'm wondering."

"I'm not scared."

"Then what are you?"

"Too proud to ignore and forgive his mistakes, and too proud to let what happened to you happen to me." And Dawn was already gone, too quick, too hasty, cheeks flushed an angry shade of fire red and letter locked away in her closet.

* * *

"If you're in love with him, you should have just kissed him!" May exclaimed, foot tapping irritably at the checkered floor. "What's the big deal?"

Perhaps Dawn came to the wrong person for advice. "For someone who's dating, you sure suck at giving love advice," Dawn retorted, stirring her tea (May insisted on treating her to it).

"Who am I dating?"

Dawn blinked, stopped stirring. "Drew."

May paused, turned to glance at aforementioned boy by the counter, and laughed, swatting the air. "You can't possibly mean that embodiment of Mother Nature over there, right?"

"If that means Drew, then yes!" Dawn exclaimed, slamming her hands down on the table. "You're not dating him?"

"I am not a herbivore, Dawn; I don't date grass."

The girls spared him another glance, and Dawn observed with temporary intrigue as he flashed his customers a dazzling smile before flicking the tuft of green on his forehead and smirking at May.

The mentioned girl's face blanched and crumpled, and she turned to face Dawn in disgust, tapping her feet against the floor louder than before. "Mother Nature has questionable taste in men."

Dawn paused, stirred her tea, a mirthful smirk playing at her lips as May increasingly grew more irritated. "I return the statement to you, May."

* * *

As Dawn prepared to leave, May grabbed her hands and departed a few words of advice, if she could classify it as such, that Dawn was tired of hearing and too proud to accept.

She expressed her gratitude to the brunette nonetheless.

Before leaving, however, Dawn decided to visit the ever so charming Drew Hayden, who narrowed his eyes in scrutiny at her, and she said, "I pity you, Drew," whilst looking back at May.

The red was lucid on Drew's cheeks, emphasised greatly by the contrast of his green hair, and he muttered with a slight stumble in his words, "Shut up."

* * *

"What am I to you?" Dawn nibbled on her popcorn, navy hair tied back into a dishevelled pony tail over her shoulder, cobalt eyes anywhere and everywhere but on his.

Paul pretended whatever happened earlier didn't. Dawn did too. Their lives fell back into their cyclic routine. But this routine of theirs was collapsing again.

Over the soft crunch of popcorn, the murmurs of the TV, Paul replied, "You are Dawn."

Dawn threw a kernel at him; he neatly dodged it. "You know what I mean Paul. What is Dawn to you?"

"Dawn is troublesome, loud and too proud."

"Proud," Dawn mused. "Is Dawn important to you, Paul?"

Paul shifted, looked away, softened his lour. "Yeah," he said. "She is."

And Dawn was content with this. Anymore would be risky. She would not ask in what way she was important, and she would not tell him he was important to her too. He never asked either (he knew what she wanted to hear, he knew it'd be wise not to pursue).

Hanging in the air were questions forever enigmas. How far their connection stretched was an enquiry insulated by Dawn's pride (too proud for vulnerability and honesty, too comfortable with the vague relationship they shared.)

* * *

"You say you are proud to let your mother's mistakes repeat themselves," May said slowly, "but aren't you just scared?"

Dawn stopped, turned, clutched her coat sleeves tighter. "Vulnerability and honesty made my mother weak, May. My father broke her. I won't allow myself to end up the same way, and I won't allow him to do it again."

"Do you think your mother is that weak?" Blue against blue; friction between sapphire and cobalt. This was a familiar feeling, one that caused Dawn's mind to override, caused her to fidget uncontrollably.

Dawn averted her gaze, readjusted her bag on her shoulder, didn't answer.

"If your mother doesn't consider it a mistake, Dawn, then why do you?" May was unrelenting. They all were. Except her. Dawn did try, though.

"I'm looking at it objectively." But stubborn and unrelenting weren't the same thing, not really.

"No, you're not. You're looking at it from the point of a scared and stubborn child."

"What am I scared of, May?"

"That you won't be able to recover the same your mother did if something like that ever happened to you. And at first, it seemed like you were scared that your mother wouldn't be able to handle meeting your father again, but you know she has moved on. In reality, you're scared that _you_ won't be able to handle meeting your dad again." May slammed her cup down, stood up. "You envy her strength, you envy Paul's strengh. And that is why you are so damn adamant."

"You know what?" Dawn's cheeks were florid, burning. "Thanks for your advice, but I really need to go."

* * *

Dawn never did grow up from that embryonic stage, did she?

* * *

 **Well, that's it! To be honest, this took a completely different direction than what I was expecting (this whole story was a sort of "go with the flow" thing, so sorry about that), so I'd appreciate comments on what you think about this kind of thing happening! And maybe even ideas of what you think is gonna happen next!**

 **So, recap: Dawn is too proud, but everyone recognises her true feelings apart fro, herself. Yuuuup. And she got a letter from her dad that left them.**

 **And viola. If it's confusing I would be more than happy to answer your questions, especially my older readers as I've changed it a lot!**

 **If you noticed some bits don't flow very well, or there are grammar mistakes, or other things, please review and I will try to correct them!**

 **Anyways, enjoy, adieu, ta!**

~Adieu,

Liberty!

XO


	5. Chapter 5

**Behold! I have updated a new, crappy chapter! I was looking over the previous chapter and good grace, May's whole speech about waiting and impatience was so damn cringey! That is what happens when you conjure something up in an hour, folks!**

 **Though this isn't any better, hahaha... haha... ha...**

 **Anyways, replies to reviews (and thank you for reviewing, you amazing little bunch):**

 **Julie Togepi:** _I plan to add them again in the future! I'm glad you think this is unpredictable, though I'm terrified that will change soon near the ending :(. I'll try my best to make sure it doesn't!_

 **coffeelovingfangirl:** _Whoa, really? I'm glad that you think Paul's in character, though reading this chapter and the next, your mind might change haha._

 **HikarixPlatina:** _Thank you very much! Hopefully, I won't break the flow in the near future, though, haha, and thank you for liking my writing. The writing in this chapter is meh, but I hope you like it anyways if you read it (My mind's blank so I can't find the right words for everything in this chapter; sorry in advance!)._

* * *

 _ **Edit:** 28th December, 2017— Minor changes. Didn't like the way it flowed, soooooo... yeah. Subject to more change later on if I feel like it, haha._

* * *

She stared at the poster, situated at eye-level on that tall lamppost she always passed on her way to school.

"Fireworks festival?" Dawn murmured, but not quietly enough that Paul was unable to hear it.

He stopped, abruptly, and with the warning lustre of his onyx eyes and a relatively stern voice, "No." Growly timbre; classical, Paul-esque warnings and threats.

He'd known her for long enough already to know that she was enticed by the poster's exploding myriad of colours, and that she'd quite quickly demand his company to the festival.

This was confirmed by her instant pout, followed by a feeble attempt at debate, "But, Paul—"

"No," he reiterated, grabbing her by the arm and drawing her forward.

She resisted, refusing to move one step and grudgingly doing so when his strength overpowered hers. In defiance, she mumbled, "We're going."

"Troublesome, we are not."

Dawn punched his arm in jest. "You know I'll convince you," she teased, pulling him down by his tie to her height, and Paul resisted the surprised grunt behind his closed lips. They stopped walking, and Dawn continued to twirl his tie around her finger, reducing the proximity until their noses almost touched; both parties were unfazed. They had learned to adapt to the little distance between them, for it happened too often.

"You have two weeks," Paul replied, and with a smirk, he added, "Good luck."

His smirk startled her slightly, though it shouldn't have since she was well aware of his affinity with challenges, and she released his tie from her grasp.

"Challege accepted!" Dawn declared, concealing her surprise by returning to the lamppost, peeling the poster off and pressing it so tightly to her face that Paul could discern her every contour. He gave her a critical look; she could feel it.

From behind the poster, her cobalt orbs peaked out and fluttered. "I bought a new kimono recently, too! Don't you want to see it?"

Paul, flicking the tip of her nose, instantly answered: "I don't."

* * *

In the middle of Pokémon History class, Paul couldn't help but deliberate her statement from earlier, and he admitted slightly- to himself; it would inflict his pride if Dawn were ever to find out- that he would like to see her in a kimono. Kind of.

* * *

Dawn chewed irritably at her thumb, and then recoiled at the blood beads protruding from beneath the pillaged flesh that dribbled onto her tongue and stained her pink lipstick with a pallid crimson.

She cursed; in her attempts to devise a plan for Paul to agree, she had ruined her lipstick.

Dawn excused herself to the bathroom, dabbing her lips with a dampened tissue until all the colour transferred over, and reapplying a new coat of the pink hue.

But she felt unsatisfied. Why? She believed that the idea of a kimono would be enough to seduce Paul into accompanying her; it was a naive thought, but he seemed like the type to prefer traditional things (Dawn justified this assumption with the fact he took a history class, even though it was revolved entirely around Pokémon instead of Sinnoh's events, old way of life and evolution as a region).

"Urgh!" Dawn whined in frustration, retiring to the floor in the smallest ball she could form with her petite frame (thank Arceus the toilets were isolated, or else she'd garner some rather disdainful glares), and incidentally smearing the pink across her skin.

She groaned.

Screw the lipstick.

* * *

"I'll go."

Paul made it a bad habit of his to spontaneously disturb their silence with unprecedented statements, and Dawn halted abruptly, resulting in angry pedestrians as they tried to traverse their way past on the narrow pavement.

"Idiot," Paul scolded, dragging Dawn. "You need to be more aware of your surroundings. Can't you see that there are people behind you?"

"Can you blame me?" Dawn retorted. "What am I meant to do when you say things out of the blue?"

"Respond naturally."

"Surprise _is_ a natural response, Paul," Dawn replied drily. "In case you've forgotten, you are not a good example of natural responses, you damn, poker-faced bastard."

"Enlighten me: are unwarranted insults a natural response as well?"

"As natural as you think surprise is unnatural."

Paul didn't reply, merely sighing and looking ahead, still grasping Dawn's wrist.

Following her own sigh at his lack of reaction, Dawn returned the subject to his initial statement: "You'll go where? The fireworks festival?"

Paul nodded.

They turned onto a more quiet road- a shortcut they rarely took- and Dawn's nose wrinkled slightly at the pungent smell of wet grass.

"What changed your mind?" she asked, treading through the nearly evaporated puddles in the hollows on the ground.

He didn't reply. Dawn sulked.

He was definitely going to pull out a surprise response when they reached home, she was sure of it.

She was half-right.

At her porch, Paul, instead of answering the question previous asked, insouciantly announced, "I like the colour blue."

Dawn, mildly surprised, batted his arm and teased, "Since when did our stoic Paul Shinji have a favourite colour?"

He didn't respond, not yet, but his onyx orbs clicked with hers, and Dawn could hear her smudged, erratic heartbeat in the lull of their conversation.

She hated this; the way nausea felt almost sweet as it swept over her, the way her heartbeats escalated like her expectations (Arceus, she didn't even know what she was expecting), the way he never really did let go of her wrist and how _natural_ it felt.

"Seven months ago, maybe," he replied, and oh, how her heart skipped a beat and her cheeks flushed.

"Because of me?" She prayed she sounded more teasing than hopeful, but she had a tendency to filter out the reality. Her eyes were fixated on the ground.

He lightly flicked her forehead. Dawn looked up, puffed cheeks and ready to spit fire, but she swallowed it down and felt her stomach burn.

"You think too much." It was a small, warm smile on his lips, an elusive chuckle, and not his typical snarky laughter or smug smirks.

He let go of her wrist, and began to walk away. Dawn stared after him, her hand wrapped around her wrist where his hand was (his hands were bigger, she noted).

Paul turned back around. "Anyways," he started, "I trust that you can take a hint."

When Dawn was at last in the comfort of her bedroom, she slammed the door shut and slid down against it, cheeks stained a furious shade of red.

She was going to need to buy a new (blue) kimono.

* * *

 **That's it! I just realised that I have no idea how I'm supposed to end this story. Deary me. But I hope to finish this in the next two or three chapters (it was meant to be a short story to begin with, after all). Pray tell if you notice any mistakes!**

 **And now, time for shameless advertising!**

 **Recently, I have written two Pokeshipping stories (Before Forevers are Never Ever Afters and The Storms Named After Us), as well as an (manga)Oldrivalshipping (Inseparable) fic. I would love it if you could spend your valuable time reading even just one of these and drop a review. (Please? I'll bake you imaginary cookies- and that is a very seductive offer, if I say so myself).**

 **Anywho, please leave a review, and...**

 _Adieu!_

 _X's and O's,_

 _~Liberty_


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello! I am back after a million years! I haven't uploaded in so long, haha.**

 **Warning: This was rushed. I'm sorry for not updating in like, forever, and when I finally whip out a new chapter, you get a rushed disaster, but I swear, I'll edit it again if I can find the time.**

 **ALSO, MY OLDER READERS, YOU MIGHT WANT TO REREAD EVERYTHING BECAUSE I'VE CHANGED THE STORY SIGNIFICANTLY AND THE FOLLOWING CHAPTERS MAY CONFUSE YOU IF YOU DON'T. SORRY FOR THE HASSLE. **

**So maybe the story is worse now, but I'm happier with where I'm taking it. I realised the characters were kinda flat, so I wanted to add some conflict (ish), and hence I edited the earlier chapters!**

 **Hope you guys like this!**

* * *

Her lips had tasted like cotton candy.

* * *

"Paul!"

 _Blue_ , he thought, glancing up from his phone, _and floral_.

Her sandals clicked against the concrete.

"How do I look?" she breathed, flushed cheeks and cobalt eyes with scattered mosaics of golden-orange light from the hanging lanterns.

"Like snow in summer," he said, and Dawn pouted a little.

"Is that your indirect way of saying I look odd?"

He never corrected her.

"Too blue." He might have smiled, if one paid close enough attention to the quirk of his lips, the fleeting mellowing of his onyx eyes. His heartbeat murmured softly into his lips, " _Beautiful_."

She never heard him, too worried that maybe she _was_ too blue. For the better, he thought. Compliments scarcely escaped his lips, and he didn't want her fussing over it.

"I knew it," she exclaimed, tucking a navy tendril behind her ear. "I should've worn pink or something."

"You worry too much, Troublesome."

"But you just said I was too—"

"I never said I disliked it, though," he intercepted, standing up from the bench and nodding towards the takoyaki stand. "Hungry?"

"You know I'm on a diet, Paul," she warned drily. "Don't tempt me."

"A diet of pizza, crisps and sweets? Wow," he drawled, "takoyaki's going to ruin all your efforts and be the death of you."

"You know," she replied, cheeks pinked, "I think I almost preferred you better when you were quiet."

"Almost?"

"Uh, so," she spluttered, "how much are the takoyaki?" She spun swiftly on her heel (or as swiftly as one could in a hefty kimono). With her back turned to Paul, the violet-haired boy would almost be unable to discern her emotions if not for the glaring crimson hue of her ears. A satisfactory smirk creeped onto his lips.

She approached the stand, Paul close behind, and when she heard the rustling of fabric and the cluttering of coins as Paul searched his pockets for change, she whipped around and gripped his hand.

"Troublesome, what are you—"

"Don't worry!" Dawn exclaimed, hushing Paul's retaliation to her gesture. She looked up at him, cobalt globes glistening with determination. "My treat."

He didn't argue; if he had tried, her persistence would only prove victorious in the end, and he didn't want to waste time fighting over something so pointless. So he merely brushed her hand off and resigned to folding his arms and not putting his hands in his pockets to reassure her.

The magnitude of her smile, satisfied and creeping slowly onto coral-stained lips, was overwhelming as she held her chin high and projected her chest, hands on hips as she took majestic strides to the stand.

She was far too proud over something so small.

But, he thought, eyes not-so-much-glaring as she fumbled for change in her drawstring pouch, it was such a Dawn-like quality that he didn't almost scorn himself for liking it.

* * *

Ten.

"Dawn," Paul called.

Nine.

"Yes?" She turned around, batted her eyes of innocent cobalt.

Eight.

He grabbed her by the arm, pulled her close.

Seven.

She stumbled forward, stumbled closer. She emanated a soft fragrance of vanilla and some sort of flower he couldn't identify even if he tried (but he liked it).

Six.

Maybe it was the moment, the excitement that made him so reckless, so daring. The rumbling of an anticipating audience, how he could see the night reflected in her eyes. How onyx and cobalt struck together, how sparks flew, more exciting than fireworks, exploding in his chest.

Five.

He kissed her.

Four.

She tasted like cotton candy.

Three.

He pulled away.

Two.

"The fireworks haven't even started yet," Dawn said, soft and low, her cheeks pink, eyes astray. He didn't know what she was implying (perhaps she was alluding to the shoujo mangas she read often, how he kissed her too early when he was supposed to kiss her as the fireworks started).

One.

He was already gone by then. But he looked back, somewhat blinded by the explosive colours and the girl in blue who bathed in the dark after.

He waited.

Waited.

Waited.

She never looked back. He knew because he never left.

When the display ended, she rushed over to him, and she was so damn casual, as if never kissed her, as if she never tried to kiss him before, as if these sparks were almost nothing to her.

It was what always happened; they fell back into their cyclic routine, pretending that everything was nothing and that nothing really mattered.

* * *

"I want to be happy," Dawn said abruptly, sitting on his couch like always, with Paul an arm's distance away from her on the same couch like always. Paul was getting tired of always.

"And I want to be Champion of Sinnoh," he deadpanned, surfing through the channels with minimal interest.

"I'm serious, Paul." She pinched away the remote, cupped his cheek with a dainty hand. He felt sick when their eyes connected.

"I was too when I kissed you," he replied coldly, too tired to play nice, too tired of this cyclic routine, too tired of conforming to her wants.

Her cobalt eyes widened, and he could feel the slight tremble of her fingers against his cheek. "Paul—"

"What are you afraid of, Dawn?"

And she turned red, removed her hand. He knew she would. He knew she was probably tired of hearing this, but if it needed to be said, he would say it.

"You too?" she muttered, brows knitting together. "Why does everyone think I'm afrai—"

"Because you are," he interrupted. "And you are either too fucking proud to admit it, or too scared. And we both know which one it is."

"How—" she hesitated, and then the anger in her voice quickly dispelled. Her fists clenched on her lap, eyes glazing over and cheeks burning, she muttered, "Then, how are you so strong, Paul?"

"You asked me that already."

"When I was seven. It doesn't count."

"Because I don't run away from what I want," Paul replied sharply, "which is everything you're doing."

"What am I running away from?" And she snapped her eyes to his. There were sparks, of course there were, there always was, but this was different, because more important than the sparks, Paul looked bleary and tired. He was tired of this, tired of her.

And this was terrifying. Dawn forced her gaze away.

"You know that yourself. I'm not going to spoonfeed you everything." He stood up and dragged her to the door. She didn't resist, but her heart was hammering in her chest and it hurt. He pushed her (as lightly as he could in spite of his anger) out and said, "Come back when you've stopped running away."

He slammed the door shut.

* * *

 **Yo, the kiss was probably the most anti-climatic and unromantic thing ever, but heyyyyyyyyyyy, it's all good... right?**

 **If whatever has happened is difficult to digest, or understand, or whatnot, PM me or review with your questions and I'll clarify them if I can!**

 **I'll say this again, but older readers, please reread the earlier chapters if you have the time. Sorry about the hassle.**

 **And please review!**

 _~Adieu!_

 _X's and O's,_

 _Liberty~_


End file.
